If I'd been in the way, instead of Jonathan Wild, that accident wouldn't have happened. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Melusine was silent, revolving this outcome in her mind as she stared at Roding, who was frowning at her in a puzzled way. It would be very good to be Capes’ friend. .
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